


Once

by Morbidmuch



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidmuch/pseuds/Morbidmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a challenge to myself because I suck at finishing stories - 100 drabbles, in varying length.<br/>Set in AU Season 9. The story will be told non linear, which is also the way I'm writing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discomfort

Spencer wasn't sure what he was doing there. His fifth glance at his watch in as many minutes told him he had exactly two minutes to make up his mind whether or not to leave. Attempting to straighten his perpetually crooked tie he gave a tight lipped smile to the man walking past him and through the open doors to his right. Fingers tapping anxiously against his leather messenger bag, eyes tightly shut, he took a deep breath and then walked quickly into the brightly lit room before he could change his mind. Once inside he stopped and looked around. About a dozen or so people of various ages were milling around, talking amongst themselves and helping themselves to the table set up with coffee and pastries. He made a beeline for the coffee, keeping his head down as he filled the too small paper cup. He still wasn't sure this was a good idea. 

“Okay everybody, it's time to start.” A baritone voice made Spencer look up, and the tall man the voice belonged to gave a short nod before sitting down on one of the chairs placed in a circle in the middle of the room. 

Quickly Spencer made his way to an empty chair, and pulled his bag in his lap as if it was a security blanket. It was all Garcia's fault really. It was she who after a particularly bad case requested his presence in her chamber of knowledge, where she ordered him to “park his bony behind" down on a chair and straight up asked how he was doing. Then she pulled out a small business card and handed it to him with the instructions, “I'm not saying you have to go, but you should consider it. I wish I would have, after my parents. Promise me you'll at least think about it?” And that was why he was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair with a cup of bland coffee in his hand in a room full of people with one thing in common. Grief.

“It's good to see so many of you here,” the group leader spoke, and suddenly Spencer felt very exposed. “We have some new faces with us tonight so I want to say a special welcome to you, and don't hesitate to speak if you need to get it out. This is a safe place.” 

Unwelcome thoughts of the case with Monica Kingston in Garcia's support group entered his mind, but he quickly filtered them away to the back of his mind. 

The meeting started, and an elderly man with dark hair spoke first. He had lost his partner of 35 years to cancer a few months earlier, and was having a difficult time coping. As each new person spoke, and with every new story of a lost loved one, Spencer felt more and more like running away. Not only because the mere idea of sharing what happened to Maeve with a group of people he didn't know made him break out in a sweat; but because he knew every statistic of the car crashes, diseases, suicide methods and military killed in action that had claimed the lives of the people being mourned. 

And that information was not a comfort for anyone. 

Looking up from inspecting the murky liquid in his coffee cup he was met with a pair of light eyes. For a moment he thought he'd lose grip of his cup in sheer surprise. As he got over the initial shock he looked further than the eyes watching him and noticed the face they belonged to: fair skin, rosy mouth, light brown hair. She looked to be about his age and was looking at him in such a way that both intrigued him and made him irritated. Why was she looking at him? 

The rest of the meetings went by in the same manner; with every new person, new story, Spencer got a new set of statistics in his brain that he had to bite his tongue not to say out loud. He was only partly aware of the meeting being called to a close and people starting to rise. Standing up, he looked at the now cold liquid in his cup and headed towards the trashcan by the exit. 

“Excuse me?”

Throwing away the cup he looked over at the woman who'd spoken, the same woman who had been looking at him just a few minutes ago. 

“You're new to the group, right? I haven't seen you here before.”

“Um, yeah,” Spencer replied, clearing his throat with a chuckle. “Is it that noticeable?”

She smiled, showing off her teeth and a dimple in her right cheek, and pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “A bit. But I also know most of the people in the group. I'm Allison, by the way.”

He looked at her outstretched hand for a second, then grasped it quickly before he could change his mind. The moment his fingers curled around hers it felt like time stopped. Everything in his head went quiet. Every statistic about the effect of confirmation bias, every language that usually ran parallel with each other about the books he was currently reading, and every thought process except the feeling of her warm hand in his. It was quiet in a way he'd never experienced before, and it made his heart race.


	2. Tattoo

It takes him to their second date to notice. 

It's not until she's sitting opposite him, tucked away in a corner inside the small coffee shop that smells like old furniture, that he notices. He's surprised he hasn't noticed before. After all, it only took ten minutes into their first date for him to memorize everything about her. Or so he thought. But it's warm inside the coffee shop and she's taken off her cardigan. It's the first time he's seen her in short sleeves, so the black ink surprises him.

“You have a tattoo?” 

She puts down the cup in her hands and twists her arm so he gets a full look of the paper plane tattoo on her inner upper arm. The letters TR are written in one of the wings, and the trail is in the form of a heart. He gets a sudden impulse to reach out and touch it, and his hand is halfway across the table before he even realizes it. Swiftly he grabs his coffee cup to mask the movement. 

“I got it for Timothy. He always loved planes, ever since he was little. He'd always make paper planes and shoot them from the stairs into the kitchen, trying to hit the sink. So it seemed fitting.” 

“How, uh, did he die?” Spencer knows she'd had a baby brother, who was in the air force. He also knows that it's the reason she joined the grief support group, but she's never spoken up at a meeting so he doesn't know how he died. 

“He was home on leave, from Afghanistan, and was here in D.C visiting me. We were on our way to dinner with our older brother Jonathan, and were crossing the street when some guy ran a red light. I got away with a broken leg and some bruises, but Timothy...” She looks down at her hands, taking a moment to compose herself. 

This time Spencer can't hold back, and reaches out to grab her hand. “I'm sorry.” 

She looks up, squeezing his fingers, and gives a small smile. “It's okay. It's really ironic though, isn't it? To survive two tours to Afghanistan only to get hit by a car in D.C.”

Spencer doesn't know how to answer, so he just squeezes her hand. They sit in silence for a moment before Allison let's go off his hand, much to his disappointment. 

“Let's get out of here, I need some air.”

Putting on their jackets and walking towards the exit, Spencer tries to pick up the courage to gasp her hand again. He holds the door open for her, and his stomach flutters at the smile she gives him. They start walking, and he almost grabs her hand at least ten times in the space of a minute. Just as he's made up his mind that he's definitely going to grab her hand, he feels her warm hand slide into his. He can feel his cheeks warm up, and his voice halters a bit in his story about the history of tattoos in the air force.


	3. Midnight

She watched the green luminous numbers, squinting a bit as her eyes adjusted to the light. She could feel his body pressed against her back, his arm around her waist and his nose buried in her hair. From his breathing she could tell he was still awake, even though he wasn't speaking. His fingers played patterns on her skin; up, down, in a circle. It tickled slightly but she was too tired to give into it. The numbers changed, 11:59 to 00:00, and she smiled. 

Turning around in his arms she stroked his cheek. “Happy birthday Spencer,” she whispered and watched as his eyes lit up in a smile before leaning in to kiss him.


	4. Suspicion

“Something's different.” 

“What do you mean?” JJ asked, not looking up from the report she was writing. 

“With Reid. Something's different,” Morgan repeated as he tapped his pen on the file in front of him. 

“How so?” JJ sighed, wanting to finish the damn report and go home to her family. It had been a long day. 

“I don't know what it is. But the fact that he's taken a personal day is suspicious.” 

JJ looked over at Morgan and grinned. “Maybe he's learning a new language.” 

Laughing, Morgan put down his pen and and gathered his things to leave. “Maybe. I'll drop by and see what's up.” 

It was with a strange feeling he drove to Reid's apartment. Something was definitely different about the young genius. He'd been absentminded, staring at his phone a lot and his statistics talk had been way less lately. So as he stood outside Reid's door getting ready to knock, he had no idea what to expect. What he didn't except was, when he knocked, to hear a female voice from inside calling out,

“Spencer, the food is here!”

And he definitely didn't except the door to open to reveal not the tall, skinny genius but a woman with light brown hair dressed in a Cal Tech t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She looked as surprised to see him as he her. 

She smiled, leaning her arm against the open door. “I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you are not the delivery guy.”

“Was it the lack of food that tipped you off?” Morgan chuckled.

“That and the gun,” she gestured to the holster at his hip. “This is a pretty safe neighborhood, the gun seems excessive. I'm Allison by the way.”

“Derek Morgan.”

As they shook hands, movement behind her drew his attention and the person he'd been coming to see appeared from the kitchen. He too was dressed casually, more casually than Morgan had seen him in a long time. 

“Morgan? What are you doing here?” 

“Just checking on you, kid.” 

Allison looked between the two men and spoke up. “I'm gonna go put on some pants.”

Morgan followed her form as she stepped back from the door, taking particular notice of the hand that touched Reid's as she passed and disappeared into the bedroom. He entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him as he spoke. 

“So I'm guessing that she's the reason for your personal day?” 

The tips of Reid's ears went slightly red, and he cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. I'm sorry for missing work, but I knew we didn't have any cases and I-”

“Reid, Reid,” Morgan stopped him, holding up his hands. “Relax. I'm just messing with you. I think it's great. Why didn't you tell us you have a girlfriend?” 

“It's still pretty new, and I just needed... time. After Maeve...” The younger agent trailed off, looking down at his shoes and taking a deep breath before looking up again. “I didn't think I'd ever feel like that about anyone again, ever. But then I met Allison.” He smiled, clearly reminiscing about something Morgan didn't know about. “She's amazing. I can't even...” he trailed off again, and Morgan tried to lower his raised brow. 

“I've never seen you this lost for words before. She must really be something.” 

“She is. Hey Morgan, do me a favor and don't tell the others.”

The older agent nodded and reached out to touch Reid's shoulder. “Sure thing, kid. I'm gonna go. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” 

He didn't move as Morgan turned around and left, and a couple of seconds after the door closed he felt a hand between his shoulder blades. His body relaxed and he felt himself smiling. Allison leaned her head against his shoulder, her hand stroking up and down his back. 

“So that was the famous Derek Morgan,” she said with a contented sigh as Reid wrapped his arm around her. 

“It was.” 

The couple stood in silence for a few moments, and then there was a knock on the door. Allison raised her head and chuckled.

“I hope that's the pizza guy and not another one of your co-workers. I'd rather not meet them when I'm starving and pantless.”

Reid smiled down at her, and pressed his lips against her hair. “I like you pantless. But let's fix the starving issue.”


End file.
